


Ashes

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 15:18:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15952022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: It's not the bus itself that upsets James. It's the length of the drive, of the destination, of the minor similarities that irk him just the wrong way. And he can't be the only one who feels that way.





	Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Set around the Eyjafjallajökull Iceland volcanic explosion in 2010. Written in Jan 2013.

Looking outside the bus window, James asked, "How much longer now?"  
  
In the reflection, he watched Lars turn his left wrist. His bracelets jingled. "Thirteen, maybe fourteen hours. Give or take anymore delays."   
  
"Mm."  
  
"Might pull over for some dinner soon. Though I think this bus is pretty well stocked. You saw that kitchen, uh?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Pretty nice, if you ask me. Want me to go ask Kirk if anything's being made yet?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
Lars patted his thigh. "Be right back."  
  
In the window, he watched Lars leave the back of the bus, shutting the door behind him. His focus changed to the outside--the dark sky, void of clouds and stars. Only ash.   
  
 _Fucking volcanos._  
  
The sound of rolling tires on pavement filled the silence again--a silence James preferred over the creaks and groans of the bus bumping along the road. Back in the early days, he fell asleep to these sounds. They meant freedom, adventure, promises and dreams. The things any starry-eyed musician wanted of having. By heart, he was a road dog. He loved cars. He loved motorcycles. He loved going on long drives, long journeys with no destination, like an outlaw, a renegade, wild and free and nothing holding him down. And back then, this was part of that freedom. A bus full of his friends, his bandmates, his crew--  
  
The bus jumped.   
  
His hands tightened around his knees.   
  
James's breathing picked up.   
  
He shut his eyes.   
  
Inhale. Hold.   
  
On the exhale, he leaned his neck back onto the headrest.   
  
 _Fuck._  
  
"Flying's out of the question," Dan Braun, their tour production manager, said in their impromptu band meeting, once news of the Iceland volcano broke. "All the airports are shut down because of zero visibility. The only way we're going to get to the next gig in Riga is by bus."  
  
Lars jolted beside him. Kirk squeaked out, "Bus?" Rob didn't look half as worried as James felt--understandably so--but he did shoot Kirk a worried stare. He knew. He understood.   
  
"How long?" James asked.  
  
"About a whole day's worth of driving. Maybe two. We have to get you from one side of Norway to the other. I would've put you on the train, but they're completely booked. There's no way we can get you on one. Thankfully, we have a few days between shows, so you'll get there in time."   
  
It was Lars, as usual, who said, "Okay then. Let's do it."   
  
James didn't miss the tremor in his voice though, or the way Lars's hand shook next to his.   
  
He remembered that tremble. It didn't occur so much back then--or it might've, he could've been too shitfaced to really notice Lars's grief, or anyone else's grief, after the accident in Sweden--but when he saw it, when he noticed Lars's hands shaking on the last bus rides they ever took before they could afford plane rides for good, James held his fingers of one hand tight, and didn't let go until they stopped. They never spoke about it. Lars never shared a 'thank you' or a look of acknowledgement. It stayed quiet, between them, another secret on top of more secrets, but James understood though. Lars did was he was doing. He buried his feelings and thoughts too. Buried them deep, deep down, where no one could reach, and it gave James some sort of weird peace, knowing he wasn't the only one doing that too. That he wasn't so alone.   
  
"James?"  
  
He lifted his head up, turning it towards the door.   
  
Lars stepped in, a hand on the frame. "Food's almost ready. Chubbs made hamburgers."  
  
"Not hungry."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Lars shut the door. He came to James's side, sitting on the couch, their thighs and hips touching.   
  
He lifted a hand to James's face.   
  
Shaky fingers touched his cheek. They skipped down the skin, to his jawline.   
  
James grabbed those fingers and squeezed.   
  
The bus swayed. Lars shook. His eyes shined.   
  
With a gentle tug to his hand, James pulled Lars closer.   
  
Their lips met in a gentle kiss that lasted long enough for James to breathe easier again. He pulled away, their noses brushing, foreheads pressed together, listening to Lars's breathing. The sound overpowered the bus's creaks and groans, and he dipped in for another kiss, focusing on the way their lips smacked, the soft moan Lars released, the taste and feel of Lars's tongue curling with his, the warmth that traveled from his mouth across his cheeks and down his neck, over his chest and to his belly.   
  
He used his free hand to grab one of Lars's bare legs, missed, and he smiled into the kiss when Lars got the hint and swung his legs up, one after the other, over James's lap. He situated Lars's legs correctly, pulling him closer with his free arm, their clasped fingers now trapped between their chests. Lars used his own free hand to slip into his hair, scratching the scalp, thumbing the area behind his left ear the way he liked: in small, smooth circles that curled his toes in his boots and left him dizzy and breathless. He reciprocated too, rubbing the area beneath Lars's knee, pleasure shooting up from his belly at the sound of Lars's gasp and moan. He trailed his hand up the back of his thigh to the beginning of his shorts, rubbing the warm skin underneath the hem, and out again.   
  
More lip smacks. More heavy breathing and soft moans. Heat and skin, Lars's tongue and Lars's little gasps. Not the road. Not the dark sky or the cold.  
  
The kiss ended with a gentle smack. Noses brushed again. Foreheads touched again. James heard his own heartbeat loud in his ears, his head pulsing and thumping. Heard Lars's own heavy breathing too.  
  
In his hand, Lars's fingers stopped trembling.  
  
He pulled away a little.  
  
When Lars opened his eyes, James brought the fingers to his lips and kissed them.   
  
Lars's eyes shined. His lips curved into a small, watery smile.   
  
James let go of Lars's hand to cup his warm cheek.   
  
Lars settled his hand onto James's chest, over his heart.  
  
They share one more kiss between them, their lips lingering as they parted.  
  
A comfortable silence passed, with Lars's head resting on the crook of James's neck, and James's hand playing with one of Lars's hands, over his lap. Touching each calm finger, the nails, the knuckles. The wrinkles showing. The calluses. The sound of Lars's breathing still overpowered the wheels on pavement, and the minor rocks and creaks of the bus. It almost lulled him to sleep, until his stomach finally growled.   
  
Lars's chuckle tickled his neck. "Hungry now, uh?"  
  
James chuckled too. "Guess so."  
  
He felt Lars lifting his head up. James met his eye, the concern head on. "You sure you're okay?"  
  
His fingers squeezed Lars's. "Yeah." He smiled. "Let's go."  
  
Lars smiled back.  
  
Their fingers still lingered together as Lars led them out of the room.


End file.
